


Take Your Time

by twistyhunter



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Immortal and Time Traveler AU, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, Violence, lots of death tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistyhunter/pseuds/twistyhunter
Summary: Once the wind died away and the trees remained still and the water resumed its regular, quiet pace crashing into the riverbank, Kurapika’s eyes fell to his lap. Nothing remained of this person; not his strange clothes or weird eyeglasses or belt. He glanced to where the stranger’s stomach was, and not even a maroon patch stained the ground. It was as if this man had never existed at all, and Kurapika could only sit in the dirt, frozen in place.The stranger said that his eyes were on fire—and Kurapika wasn’t surprised. He had shared a last moment with a dying man, and of course the strings in his heart would pull. However, he wasn’t going to tell the stranger that he was sad. He wouldn’t lie to a man that seemed to care about him, though the two of them had never met once.Those strings around his heart were green with envy.---Kurapika has been cursed with immortality and thus finds no point in living. All he can do is hunt down the man who ruined his life in order to finally be able to move on from this world. However, throughout the many centuries he is forced to live, he encounters a time traveler named Leorio who perplexes him again and again.





	Take Your Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I know I have other works I haven't touched in a thousand years (*eyes "Radiance"*) but I got into HxH a couple years ago and I feel like I need to try contributing to the fandom in SOME way other than cosplay. I gotta indulge on some LeoPika somewhere, y'all. 
> 
> Anyway, this is a piece that's much darker than what I usually do, so brace yourselves, guys. This is gonna be a doozy. I mean, don't worry though, I'll add some cute things in here! Hopefully? Probably. Again, gotta indulge in those sweet Leopikas;;;
> 
> I haven't written fanfiction in a couple years, so if this is a little rusty, please bear with me as I try to get back into the swing of things! I hope to update this at least once a month, if not more often. 
> 
> **TWs: Blood, Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Gore (if I miss anything, please let me know so that I can add it to the tags!)
> 
> Anyway, happy reading! c:

_“I am incapable of conceiving infinity, and yet I do not accept finity.”_  
 Simone de Beauvoir  


_Maybe this time… it’ll finally be over._

Kurapika took a deep breath as he leveled the knife up to his own throat. His fingers gripped the handle of the blade, no longer trembling from fear. In fact, his hands were almost too steady as he relaxed his shoulders and tilted his head back, exposing his own neck. The air of that autum morning was quiet, almost too quiet for the blonde’s taste. That’s why he chose to stand by a river; the sound of the water would distract him from the sound of the knife piercing through his skin.

Kurapika no longer was afraid of death. In fact, being able to die was the only thing he had wanted.

He swallowed thickly as imaginary screams echoed in his ears; memory was a cruel mistress, causing him to reminisce before each attempt. He could almost smell the smoke that furled from his home, the charred flesh of his mother and father before they were both swallowed up in flames. The maroon robes of his best friend, Pairo, turning black too quickly before falling into a pile of ash.

He had to open his eyes slowly to remind himself that he was no longer in the center courtyard of the Kurta Clan’s camp. Kurapika was in a forest, standing along the edge of a river.

His heart lurched into his throat as his tear ducts tried to conjure up tears- however, they had been dried up from the fire. No matter how many hours he had mourned, the water in his eyes could do nothing to save his family. Much like how the water at his feet flowed down stream, never to return back to him, Kurapika could not turn back. Everything he had was gone.

Rather, it had been stolen by the Spiders.

Kurapika swallowed thickly as that day played across the front of his mind over and over again.

_They had ripped the eyes of his people out of their sockets, housed them in jars, then destroyed any remains of them in a typhoon of flames. That bright, summer morning, Kurapika had been laughing to himself as he collected berries in the nearby field for his mother. His dark eyes glittered with a gentle joy, a content smile spread on his face._

_An hour later, those berries had been abandoned, shriveled up in the dirt with a blackened wicker basket.  The laughter died to eerie silence, save for the crackling and sizzling of the Kurta Clan. Kurapika’s eyes were burning as red as the blood that caked the earth._

_A company of dark sorcerers had destroyed his life, then left him for dead—or rather, much too alive. Kurapika could still remember the blank stare of their leader’s face. His skin was deathly pale, eyes black with no shine to them. It was as if the grim Death itself was in front of him, but in that soulless expression, Kurapika knew there was no mercy present. His lips moved, staining Kurapika with a curse that he would have to bear until the end of time._

_“You will never die, pet.”_

_Kurapika remembered the smallest pebbles scraping against his back as he was shoved into the ground, everything around him seemed to be bleeding red. The Spider’s leader dug his boot into Kurapika’s chest, causing a few of the ribs beneath his skin to snap. He remembered the metallic taste of blood in his throat and how no matter how loud he screamed, he knew help wasn’t coming for him. The Kurtas had already lost._

_“I can collect a thousand pairs of eyes, but nothing is more entertaining than watching them change, alive,” the sorcerer said._

_Nothing made him feel more ill when such a soulless man flicked the corners of his lips upward into a cold smile. There was a small sword in the man’s palm at the time, and he dragged it over his own palm before slashing it across Kurapika’s neck. The cut wasn’t deep enough to behead him, but it was enough for him to choke on the blood that trickled into his open throat. The corners of his vision grew hazy, and the tips of his fingers grew cold._

_“As long as only our blood graces this sword, we will remain forever.”_

Kurapika shook his head, trying to shake away those words that echoed in his head. He sucked in a deep breath before exhaling, allowing those phantom sensation to ebb away with his breath. He had been left to live, but what was the point of living when he had nothing left to live for? His friends, his family, his entire life had been swept away by a man whose eyes shown no soul.

This was only one attempt of many, and even though he knew in his heart that the attempt was going to fail, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he tried. He knew that once he plunged this knife into his throat, it would force itself out and clatter on the rocks on the riverbank. He knew that he would fall to his knees and hack up enough blood for his consciousness to flee from him, leaving him in a shell-shocked state of darkness. Kurapika also painfully knew that he would wake up the next morning, half-soaked from the river gently lapping at his side with a pink scar across his throat.

Regardless, he had hope that maybe this time, Chrollo’s spell would break.

He knew nothing about it but maybe he would do something, trick magic by pure chance in order to attempt to escape from this hell he had been stuck in for the past six years. Maybe by writing over the white scar on his neck, he could write over the curse and finally move on from this place. Maybe, he would be welcomed into _actual_ hell where the fires were more like a comforting fireplace in comparison to the torture that was living.

Kurapika pulled the blade away from his throat before thrusting it forward.

However, it stopped.

“ _KURAPIKA!_ ”

Kurapika’s dark eyes flew open when he felt no pain, not even the tip of the blade scraping his neck. Rather, there was an explosive shout in his ear and a large hand clenching his wrist tightly, forcing the knife away from his neck. When he looked over to the side, he saw a man with a face that Kurapika could only describe as deeply pained and incredibly _worried_.

This man was tall, at least over 6” taller than him. He was rather lanky, too, with black hair that seemed to stick out in odd directions on his head, and small, round glasses that lay scratched and crooked on his long nose. He was dressed in odd clothing that was soaked, as if he had been standing in the rain. He wearing a set of black trousers, a white, button-up shirt with half of the buttons undone, and something that appeared to be a belt hanging haphazardly on his waist. The bronze metal nobs were dented and scratched, and the belt buckle was only shattered remains of some violet crystal.

And behind the buckle, Kurapika noticed red start to bloom.

Before Kurapika had the chance to ask a single question- _Where is he from? Who is he? How does he know my name?_ \- the stranger collapsed onto the riverbank, dragging Kurapika down with him, causing the blonde to fall flat on his rear. Though the man’s legs seemed to have given out, that vice grip he had on Kurapika’s wrist felt nearly strong enough to break it. The knife Kurapika held clanged down on the rocks, and he spat a curse in Kurta as the glint of the silver blade snuck under the blue waves of the river.

“What are you doing?!” Kurapika snapped at the stranger, who laid flat on his stomach in front of the blonde. He tried tugging his arm away from the man, but the man refused to let go. Instead, he trembled as he hoisted himself up with his other arm, exposing the larger patch of red growing on his shirt.

At first, the man was silent, staring at Kurapika with a face that was unreadable. Kurapika knew the stranger must have been in pain, but there was something else in his small, dark eyes that Kurapika couldn’t place.  “Let go of me!” Kurapika started, words jumping out of his mouth quickly. “What are you doing? You’re hurt, you shouldn’t be—“

“Ah,” the stranger let out a quiet sound, the tension in his jaw loosening enough so that the man could put on a half-smile. “Sorry. I’m a little low on time.”

“Not if we get you to town,” Kurapika said, furrowing his brow. He tried wriggling his arm out of the man’s grip. “If you let go of me, I could help you get to a—“

“Nope,” the man said with a short groan. He adjusted his grip on Kurapika’s hand and flipped over onto his back, resting his head on Kurapika’s thighs. “This is all I need, Pika.”

“What are you _talking_ about?!” Kurapika’s eyes flew wide as he started wriggling from beneath the stranger. Why on earth would a complete stranger not only lay his head in Kurapika’s lap, but know his name and call him by some kind of affectionate nickname? “Get up, we need to get you to a healer!” Kurapika insisted, shaking the man's shoulder with his free hand.

“Stop. _Please_.”

Despite how large this man was, his plead then was incredibly small, small enough for Kurapika to freeze. He felt… awkward. Did he meet this person once before and forget? It had been six years since the fall of the clan; six years was a long time to meet and forget someone. However, this person seemed too comfortable around him, and Kurapika knew he hadn’t become close to anyone since then.

Who was this person?

The man coughed suddenly, cursing quietly to himself before resting his head back on Kurapika’s lap. Blood trickled from the corner of his lips, and from the looks of it, this moment was probably this man’s last.

However, the man smiled at him.

“Your eyes… they look like they did back then.” The stranger’s mouth moved to continue, but a sharp hack of a cough interrupted him. “Like you’re… on fire.”

Kurapika felt the man’s shoulders relax against his thighs, and he watched his whole figure release itself from tension. His teeth were still gritted, like he was trying hard to seem peaceful. His eyes were closed, but Kurapika didn’t need to see them to know he was in pain.

“Hey… can you…”

The man didn’t finish, but instead slowly pulled Kurapika’s hand over to the side of his face. What did he want the blonde to do, hold it? When he carefully cupped the side of the man’s face, the man pressed his cheek into it with a quiet, approving hum. His mouth started moving again, and Kurapika could see some of the strain in the way his dark eyebrows furrowed together. He was trying to keep his smile, Kurapika could tell, but he looked frustrated. About what, Kurapika had no clue.

“…I’ll see you soon, Pika. And maybe then…”

The shattered crystal started to flicker with a quiet light, casting a lilac glow over the dying man before his image began to fade. The wind around him started to pick up, enough to shake the trees that peppered the riverbank and to push the waves of the water back.

As if the man was made of the same leaves as the trees, his body began to dissolve into flakes of light. Between rogue strands of golden hair, Kurapika watched as the stranger, who spoke with him familiarly and smiled despite his pain, was swept up into the wind with the leaves.

The man was gone.

Once the wind died away and the trees remained still and the water resumed its regular, quiet pace crashing into the riverbank, Kurapika’s eyes fell to his lap. Nothing remained of this person; not his strange clothes or weird eyeglasses or belt. He glanced to where the stranger’s stomach was, and not even a maroon patch stained the ground. It was as if this man had never existed at all, and Kurapika could only sit in the dirt, frozen in place.

The stranger said that his eyes were on fire—and Kurapika wasn’t surprised. He had shared a last moment with a dying man, and of course the strings in his heart would pull. However, he wasn’t going to tell the stranger that he was sad. He wouldn’t lie to a man that seemed to care about him, though the two of them had never met once.

Those strings around his heart were green with envy.

 

***

 

Kurapika had reached a point where he could no longer stay in the forest, lamenting on the ghosts of ashen remains of his village. It was the frustration that he couldn’t bare; not being able to join his family after the countless attempts was driving him into insanity. If that wasn’t enough, his whole body would seize up and cringe at the thought that some stranger was able to die in his arms so easily, while his own soul was forced to stay and rot on the earth. He lost count of how many attempts he had made to die and stay dead, just as he had lost count of how many times he had seen the leaves change color, fall off, and grow back again. Nothing was working, and he was only killing off his sanity each day he woke up.

One morning, after sleeping in the snow of a deep December winter, he had decided that this spell was not something he could break on his own. He needed to find the source.

Kurapika turned numb to the hardships of traveling alone; if he died from exhaustion, he would collapse and stand back up the next day. If he was robbed by traveling bandits and murdered, he’d sit back up and let the bandits slash at him again. It didn’t matter. His skin would sew itself up by nightfall.

He would find those Spiders and make it the last thing he did.

If he was able to find Chrollo and the rest of the Spiders, he would be able to reunite with his family. He’d break the curse and be freed from his own bonds to this life. It was freedom that he sought more than death. All he needed was that sword.

The Kurta Clan was one tucked away from the rest of the world, hidden deep in the forest. Kurapika had only traveled outside the village a couple of times when he was a child, and back then, those towns where he had traveled were nothing but small hamlets or camps. However, when he found the nearest town, Kurapika could only stand at the edge of it, motionless.

It was massive, with stone walls that loomed far over his head. The gates that were the entrance of the city were coiled like vines, but all made of black metal. _When did everything grow so large?_ He thought as he approached the gate.

“Oi!”

Kurapika had hardly noticed the two men standing on each side of the gate, and his eyes flew wide at how they, too, were made of metal. Or rather, it seemed as though their clothing was. Both men were equipped with long spears and large, metal shields that Kurapika could only stare at. Not only had this hamlet exploded into a civilization, but the clothing was so strange to him too. One of the men pointed the head of his spear at Kurapika when he tried walking through. The other only silently eyed him up and down, his face cold. “You can’t come in without a merchant’s pass or a traveler’s warrant.”

Kurapika muttered a curse in Kurta. It had been a while since he had spoken in English, and even then the words seemed to have changed a little too.

“What—you a foreigner or something?” asked the guard, shaking his spear at the blonde. “What the hell are you doing, kid?”

He hesitated before he decided to speak. The few times he had been to this place, it was always with some of the men who were more of the conversationalists. He had barely learned English, so he was more or less taken to the other villages for learning purposes instead of being an active participant. He’d just pull from those dialogues and see what would happen.

“I… I am an ambassador of the Kurta clan, and I need to get through,” Kurapika said slowly, starting to feel hollow. His English speaking voice hardly sounded like his own. “So move.”

His statement was received with blank stares before the one who had remained silent made a strange, choked sound in his throat. Wait—was he _laughing?_ The other guard snorted as well, causing Kurapika’s blonde brows to bunch together in confusion.

“What?”

“You mean like— _the_ Kurta clan?” The man raised his spear and stuck the butt of it in the ground beside him, leaning on it as he looked down at the blonde with a smirk on his face. “You’re joking, right? Those guys kicked the bucket _years_ ago.”

“Yeah, wasn’t that whole thing like 120-something years ago?” said the other guard. “There weren’t any survivors, so save your breath. Do you have your papers or what?”

Kurapika felt his legs lock in place at the man’s words. He had been alive that long? Kurapika knew that the days seemed to blend together in some endless-seeming span, but had that really been so long ago? He had only started to travel recently, too, so he couldn’t fathom how long he had been hovering around the remains of his clan.

“…is that so?” Kurapika’s words barely fell out of his mouth as the wave of realization only began to hit him.

It was a strange sensation, as if he had been trapped in a constant state of slow-motion, watching the world pass by him so rapidly. Only now, he was able to become aware of how quickly those that were finite changed.

It spurned him all the more to find the Spiders. He wasn’t supposed to be a part of this time; Kurapika had only been here for less than a few minutes and he already felt out of place.

“If you don’t have your papers, then go find some other town to bum in.” The guard that was leaning on his spear straightened up again. He pulled it out from the ground, readying to tilt it down when Kurapika caught sight of a flash of light from inside the city.

It was a small glimmer at first before morphing into the shape of a lanky man. When the light faded away, the man ran up behind the guard, where Kurapika could see him properly.

He was quite tall and as thin as a twig. His hair was short and dark, seeming to jump out from his head. Small, round glasses hung on the bridge of his long nose and a lavender gem sparkled from his--

This man was supposed to be dead.

“He-ey, sir!” the stranger said, slinging an arm over the guard’s shoulder. He snickered as the guard jumped, and before the guard could say anything to protest, the man held up a brilliant, shining ruby up to his face. “If you let my friend in, you and your friend can go sell this and split the coin, got it?”

The guard’s eyes widened suddenly, and his large, gloved hand swiped the gem away and into his pocket. He nodded to the other guard, signaling for both of them to take a distinct step to the side. Kurapika could only stand stupefied as he watched both guards turn their heads the other way, letting him in.

“Well, come on, friend!” the stranger called out to him, and Kurapika’s feet obeyed, much to his own confusion. In fact, he even found himself walking faster than usual to this stranger’s side.

Sure, he may have been cursed with immortality, but it was hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that he was walking down a stone path with a ghost. Or maybe an undead creature? Either way, this man was not supposed to be eyeing him up and down; he was supposed to be scattered in some kind of magical lilac dust in the wind. However, he didn’t look wounded at all; in fact, his face was a little rounder as if he had gotten _younger_. And, he was wearing some kind of copper colored attire instead of the slick black outfit he had on before.

“Ah—your eyes are red again. What—are you mad, ‘Pika?! I just helped you in!” The stranger stopped, giving Kurapika an exasperated expression. He even slumped over a bit, ruining his posture in defeat.

_Pika._

“What the hell is that nickname for?!” Kurapika spat. “And what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be—“ The questions seemed to be flying out of his mouth, only to be stopped when the man waved his hand.

“Oi, oi, speak some _English_ , will you?” the man said. “I don’t speak Kurta.”

He was too angry and confused to slow down and remember the English phrasing. However, spitting Kurta wouldn’t get him any answers, so Kurapika sucked in a breath before quickly letting it out. “What are you doing here?” Kurapika asked slowly, eyeing the man with glare.

“You told me that I was the one that helped you in here, and I did. So, are you gonna thank me now, or thank me later?” the man said, resting his hands on his hips. With that pompous smirk of his, Kurapika would have sworn he looked like some kind of monkey.

“The last time we spoke, you were wounded and I said nothing like that. What are you talking about?”

“What?” the stranger said, confused. He twisted around, trying to examine his body from head to toe. He started patting his arms and his stomach, as if he was searching for something on his person, but the effort was fruitless. “Nope, I’m pretty good. You can count on good ol’ Leorio to keep kicking!” He even slapped his chest a few times for good measure. “I don’t know when I got hurt, but I heal up pretty quick, so even if I _did_ get hurt, I’m fine?”

“Mr. Leorio, I don’t think it was something you could recover so quickly from,” Kurapika said, with a grave look in his face. There was no way that this Leorio person could recover from a wound like that so quickly. He had even _said_ he was dying. Was all that “running out of time” speech just a farce? “Sir, you’re supposed to be—“

Before Kurapika could finish, this man started laughing. _What’s wrong with this person?_ Kurapika thought as he gritted his teeth and balled his fists at his sides. He didn’t know him, yet acted like he knew him, somehow _died_ and came back to life, and now was laughing at him?

“Sorry, sorry,” Leorio said after finally regaining his breath. He waved his hand at Kurapika, as if trying to wave away his irritation. “You just haven’t called me ‘Mr.’ and ‘Sir’ in a while, so it’s just funny to hear you say it.”

Kurapika raised an eyebrow. There he was again, acting as though the two of them had met before. He acted so familiar to him, but Kurapika swore that the only time they had seen each other was that autum morning where Leorio died in his arms. He could do nothing but stand in front of this man even more confused than the first time they met.

Before he could ask any of his questions, ( _Why do you keep calling me ‘Pika’? Why do you speak so informally with me? How did you survive that wound? How did you get wounded at all?_ ) the gem on Leorio’s belt began to flash.

“Ah—looks like my time’s up for now,” Leorio said. “I’ll see you soon, ‘Pika.”

With that, Leorio gave him a nonchalant wave goodbye and flashed him a toothy grin. Before Kurapika could answer, that lilac light of the belt grew brighter and enveloped around him, swallowing up Kurapika’s vision. He had to turn away for a moment, grimacing in the crook of his arm before looking back to that spot where Leorio was before.

This man had entered his life once again, and just like the first time, left it without a trace.

Kurapika blinked, a little stupefied, though he wouldn’t admit it. This Leorio person… this _stranger_ , was nothing but an arrogant _boor_. He somehow knew his name, perverted it with some odd nickname, and somehow came back to life? Again, Kurapika felt envy sew a thick thread through his heart, but it pulled him all the more further to his true reason as to coming here at all.

Chrollo was in this town.

Amidst his travels, he had heard rumors of a powerful sorcerer settling in the area. The people had all said the same things, how his eyes were lifeless, how cold his skin looked, how once he had smiled, only death ensued. He was looking for new legs for the Spiders, that only powerful magic-users stood a chance, and anyone else who had tried was killed in under ten seconds.

Kurapika had no interest in joining him. He was after the sword. If he could take that sword, he would hold both of their lives in his hands; rather, their mortality. Being able to live such an infinite amount of years truly did make Chrollo out to be some sort of cruel God, but if Kurapika, who was so quick to abandon his own limitless life, gotten a hold on his sword, Kurapika would be able to shatter that image.

And then, he’d kill him himself.

The Kurtas were raised with magic all around them, only to be strengthened by their eyes. Over the past year of trying to find this man, he had been honing his own skills, building a set of chains in which imprison the man who had damned Kurapika’s own life. And with Chrollo’s mere presence, Kurapika knew that his eyes would be on fire.

There was a barn on the other side of town that had been abandoned by its owner years before. A plague case had sprung up here, so no one dared to enter it. It was a perfect qualifier for a Spider: to be so resilient to such a deadly disease. He picked up his pace on his way to the barn, knowing full well that a diseased building was nothing to a person who was doomed to recover by the next morning.

 

**Author's Note:**

> SO YEAH. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.
> 
> This is going to be such a nightmare to write, I can already feel it;; I know in my soul I'm going to have to go back and edit stuff so that there's consistency, but hopefully I can get it all down on the first run. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I am a shy writer whose barely been able to publish anything, so any words of encouragement will definitely motivate me to keep going with this. Also, critiques are more than welcome! I would love to make this story better, so if I need to change some things, then please feel free to say so!


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